Isn't He Precious
by notapepper
Summary: After years of dodging a meddlesome coworker-turned-matchmaker, Fitz is not looking forward to Valentine's Day at Sci-Ops. (Fake dating. Lots of BrOTP vibes. More friendship than romantic.)
1. Chapter 1

"Valentine's Day. Utter horseshite, 's what that is," Fitz grumbled into his oatmeal. "I wonder what _delightful_ festive decoration the front desk ladies will've thought up this year." Last year they'd decked out all of the reception areas with massive bouquets of air-freshener-scented paper flowers. Just walking into work had left him gasping for air and thoroughly unamused.

"Oh, don't be such a fusspot," Jemma tutted, spooning a bit of jam into her own bowl and watching the raspberry streak swirl appetizingly into the warm mush. "This isn't the Department of Motor Vehicles, after all. The secretaries at Sci-Ops _enjoy_ their jobs; so what if they like to do something nice for holidays?"

"But it's not even a real holiday, Jemma!" he insisted. "It was forced into existence by the greeting card companies and the florists and if you ask me, the only thing Valentine was the saint of was overcharging for chocolate."

Jemma rolled her eyes and went to tidy up their breakfast toppings while she let her oatmeal cool. Fitz, of course, took this to mean she was uninterested in his rant and promptly waved an indignant spoon at her, flicking off bits of soggy oats as he fumed.

"And I should _think_ that, as a biologist, _you'd_ be more offended by the anatomically incorrect hearts!" The year before last, said heart-shaped confetti had burst out of everyone's lockers. Of course it was just Fitz's luck that his thermos of tea had leaked, which meant dozens of tiny, vaguely romantic red-and-pink splotches on the title page of his proposal due that morning. "It's the worst day of the year. I should probably just stay home."

Simmons sighed as she sat back down, pausing with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "Fitz, while I sympathize with how unbearably _awful_ it must be, you being forced to work near a few happy couples and rose bouquets once a year," her deadpan face indicated she did not sympathize at all, "we both need to be there today, remember?"

Seeing that he was still sulking, she pressed on. "I got pulled into that planning committee for the new field kits, so I'll be in the conference room all day—I need you to keep an eye on my samples, and you're meant to be keeping the California R&D lab updated on the new version of the Magic Window. They wanted the specs by close of business day."

Fitz pouted into the sweet creaminess of his bowl. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten." He didn't admit to Jemma that one of the main reasons he didn't like going into work on Valentine's Day was that Joanna, the front desk manager, always asked him if he was _finally_ going to ask Jemma out. Apparently, it was simply _unfathomable_ to the whole of Sci-Ops that two people could be best friends (and lab partners, and roommates) and nothing else. What's more, for the past five years, when he'd insisted on their platonic status, Joanna—matronly, well-meaning Joanna—had taken it upon herself to try setting him up with anyone else who was single on Valentine's Day.

-o-

As they walked toward the huge sliding doors at Sci-Ops laboratories, Fitz groaned at the sight that awaited them past the plate glass. "Oh, well _that_ is just _rude_. Don't they know there's a helium shortage?"

He waved incredulously at the heart-shaped pink balloon arch rising majestically in the atrium lobby and the large balloon bouquets placed aesthetically around the stark white seating areas.

At his side, Jemma gritted her teeth and clutched the sleeve of his jumper in her fist, pulling him to a stop just outside the entrance. "Fitz." She turned a warning look on him. "I don't want you complaining to Joanna, or _any_ of the support staff," she tightened her grip to make the point, "about this. It's only one day."

"But Jemma!" he hissed under his breath. "You know as well as I do that helium is a finite resource! Once it gets into the air it just _escapes_ , Simmons! We can't make more! It just flies off into _space_!"

"Well, yes, it's lighter than the other gases, Fitz, that's what happens." She somehow managed to look unimpressed and sympathetic at the same time.

He grabbed her shoulders. " _Space!_ "

Jemma pursed her lips. "I agree with you, all right? Of _course_ I would prefer to see helium used for cryogenics than wasted on funny voices and other such nonsense—"

"Or how about _scientific research_ , hmm? I wonder, is that perhaps what we're _supposed_ to be doing here?"

She leveled him with an annoyed sigh. "In the States, Valentine's Day is important to people! You can't just rain on everyone's fun simply becau—"

"—quantum mechanics, superfluidity and superconductivi—" Fitz began to tick off the scientific and industrial uses of helium on his fingers.

"—Joanna and Salwah really _like_ putting these things togeth—"

"—arc welding, _leak detection_ —" Fitz's eyes appealed to her sense of lab safety.

"—such _nice_ people, did you know Salwah's grandson just lost his first tooth?"

"—MRIs, silicon wafers, solar telescop—"

"Fitz!"

He cut off abruptly, ruddy-faced as one of the waving pink monstrosities caught his peripheral vision. "You know I'm right, Simmons."

"I know," she relented briefly, squeezing his hand in commiseration. "Doesn't matter. Not a _word_." She raised her eyebrows pointedly as they walked inside and headed towards the elevators. On the way, she lifted a hand in greeting and called out to the woman beaming at them from behind the polished onyx desk. "Good morning, Joanna!" Simmons sent her a supportive grin. "Everything looks lovely!"

"Agents Fitz, Simmons!" The older woman smiled back. "Come, have a cupcake!" She held up a tray, showing off dozens of scalloped confections sprinkled with tiny red candies.

"You can have mine," Jemma muttered under her breath. She didn't believe in that much sugar so early in the morning.

"You're the best," he grinned, making a beeline towards the sweets. Just then the elevator opened, and Jemma hesitated, looking back to Fitz, but he was chatting with Joanna as she handed him his messages and about 1200 calories' worth of baked goods. "Okay, see you upstairs!"

He acknowledged her with a nod, mouth full of cake and white frosting already smeared across his upper lip.

Joanna waited approximately half a second after the elevator doors closed before she started the Inquisition. "So, Agent Fitz, is this the year you finally ask Agent Simmons on a real date?"

Fitz winced internally, but remembered Jemma's admonition. "Oh, I don't think so," he smiled ruefully. "She's a bit out of my league."

 _Nailed it_ , he congratulated himself. In one sentence he'd shut down Joanna's line of questioning while still managing a compliment towards Simmons. _Foolproof._

"Well," Joanna started, donning her matchmaker face. Fitz swallowed. _Here it comes. Who's it gonna be this year? Kavita from HR? Holly from Purchasing?_ He bit his lip and steeled himself _._

"Maybe if you gave her a balloon, she'd reconsider," Joanna schemed, plucking a ribbon from the floating bouquet on the desk and holding it out to him. "She _did_ say she liked them…" she trailed off in a singsong.

Fitz forced his expression to remain impassive. There might not be a _worse_ way to woo Simmons than to remind her that such a valuable resource had been squandered on party decorations. Not that he _wanted_ to woo Simmons. But he couldn't exactly tell that to the expectant look on Joanna's face.

"Ye-esss…" he agreed reluctantly, taking the offending item. "Right, Simmons loves this sort of balloon." _Hmph. For gas_ _chromatography, maybe._

Then a thought struck him.

"Actually, have you been handing these out all morning?"

"Oh, yes! People love them. I heard a group from the Accounting Department is going up to the roof at lunchtime to set them loose and watch them fly off into the air! Won't that be pretty?"

"Yeah, yeah, definitely." He blew out a whine. _Why me? I'm a good person. Love my mum and everything._ "Sounds brilliant. Except…"

"Mmm?" Joanna leaned forward conspiratorially, and Fitz put on what he considered his most charming grin.

"As it happens, Joanna, you've given me a great idea. But I'll need your help if I'm going to ask out Agent Simmons."

-o-

A few hours later, Fitz was hovering a bit awkwardly in their shared lab, trying to dodge the bobbing pink obstacles that filled the room from floor to ceiling. With the starry-eyed enthusiasm of a woman playing Cupid, Joanna had enlisted a veritable squadron of die-hard romantics to assist her in mildly ruining Fitz's life. Which was how he found himself staring at an enormous fuschia-and-lavender banner screaming out "Will you be my Valentine?" from where it drooped over Jemma's workstation. Vases of both silk and fresh flowers covered every lab bench and scattered petals marked a trail from the doors to where Fitz now stood, wringing his hands.

"Is that all the balloons?"

One of the switchboard operators, Leticia, nodded encouragingly. "Should be! I rounded up as many as I could from each office." She finished tying a red bow on the back of his desk chair. "They were thrilled to help, you know! You and Agent Simmons are very popular."

"Ah." He grimaced. "Is that why, ah, is that why we've got an audience?" He pointed towards the crowd of looky-loos in the hall just outside his lab, feeling his stomach sink at the implication. There was no way he could just close the doors and explain to Simmons privately. _This is shapin' up to be a catastrophe._

"Oh, yes, so wonderful!" Salwah clasped her hands together and ducked her head around the pink hazards, bustling over to plant a lipstick smudge on his cheek before thumbing it off. "We've all been waiting for this day a long time. You two make an _adorable_ couple!"

Fitz tamped down the acid surging up his throat and tried to will away the red flush on his neck. "Yep. That's us!" He laughed weakly. "Couple of blind fools, we are. Who can believe it took us this long to see what was right in front of us?"

"Oh, that's all right, dear. At least you didn't miss your chance!" Joanna swatted away a balloon that had attached itself to her teased hair and patted his hand in what he guessed was meant to be reassurance.

He craned his neck to peer down the hall for his partner, eyeing the red EXIT sign with longing. A collective gasp went up as the elevator doors dinged and opened, and the crowd parted for a visibly flustered Jemma.

"Okay, showtime! Let's give these lovebirds some privacy!" With a broad wink, Joanna bustled the other ladies out of the way, making sure they still had a front-row seat to the proceedings. He supposed they'd probably earned it. He sighed quietly and kept his eyes trained on his feet.

"Fitz? What on Earth is going on?"

He raised his head tentatively and squinted, honestly baffled at the turn his day had taken. "This, erm, it may have gotten a bit out of hand?"

Aware that they were within earshot of their audience, he shuffled forward and lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. "Play along, okay?"

Jemma's eyes snapped wide when he edged back and practically shouted, "Jemma Simmons, it is Valentine's Day and will you go on a date with me?" With a tiny tilt of his chin, he indicated the crowd of onlookers, while the set of his jaw begged her to _be cool, Jemma, just be cool. For once_.

His Scottish brogue boomed out again. "You are so _rare_ and _precious_ that when you're around me I feel like I could just _float away_. Also you should definitely say yes because we've _wasted_ so many chances already and time is _running out._ " He held her gaze, brows intense, willing her to understand.

Comprehension bloomed across her forehead, and the next moment a bubbling laugh had turned her shoes to butter and she practically collapsed into him. "Oh my God, Fitz," she chided softly. "This was about the helium?"

"Of _course_ it's about the bloody helium," he whispered back urgently. "I got them to dismantle that ghastly arch and basically hand over every balloon in the building."

"My hero," she teased. Then, much louder. "Yes, Fitz, yes! I've been waiting for this day since I was a little girl!" She pitched forward and gave him a— _gross, Jemma_ —deliberately sloppy kiss on the cheek. "A thousand times yes!" A cheer went up from outside the room.

Fitz put on his biggest smile and walked to the doors, turning to their audience with an exaggerated thumbs-up. Cries of "Congratulations!" and "Well done!" burst sporadically from the group and he held up a grateful hand as he addressed them.

"Thank you all so much for your help! Now if you don't mind," he waggled his eyebrows, feeling like an utter twat, "I think my partner and I might need a moment to ourselves?"

Powering through his blush, Fitz grinned significantly and rested his fingers on the doorknob. Jemma, having long since grown wise to his game, was busy closing the blinds in the lab windows. The crowd began to disperse, now dotted with catcalls and encouraging whoops, and after a long moment they were finally free of their coworkers' gossiping eyes.

"Mother of all things, what an ordeal." Fitz sank into his chair and rubbed firmly at the bridge of his nose. "And honestly, Jemma, 'a thousand times yes'? I know you're not the best at improvisation, but that was a bit over the top." He frowned and wiped the cuff of his sleeve against the spot where she'd slobbered all over his face.

"Oh, Fitz, this was _your_ idea!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Now come on, let's see how much helium we can save before someone comes in to lecture us on appropriate workplace behavior."

 _Right._ Because everyone thought they were now snogging in the lab. Fitz shuddered away the prospect. Kissing in the midst of toxic chemicals and biological samples was _not_ his idea of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

"Sorry you got pulled into this," he mumbled. "I didn't intend for things to escalate that much."

"It's all right." Her tone got a bit softer. "Chances are I would have been having dinner with you tonight anyway, so it's not as if we're being so _very_ dishonest."

She ruffled her fingers through his curls on her way to grab the pressurized tanks. "Besides, I'd much rather salvage helium with you than let those _numpties_ from Accounting infest the nearby countryside with a load of wayward balloons. Do they even _know_ the ecological implications of…"

As Jemma rambled on, gathering the implements they'd need and handing them off to him almost automatically, Fitz barely noticed he'd been watching her the entire time. But he did notice the quiet swell of affection that washed through his chest at the fact that his best friend would throw herself into cahoots with him, no questions, simply because he felt something was important.

They worked smoothly, Fitz murmuring encouragements now that she seemed to have found her own rant to carry on about. After a long while, both of them sweaty from exertion, they stepped back and looked at the pitiful pile of deflated pink latex and the much more satisfying row of heavy metal canisters.

"That's a job well done, then," Jemma nodded. "Ready for our big date, _Valentine_?"

Fitz groaned and dragged a hand across his face. "I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"

"Aww," she clucked. "Don't worry, Fitz." She batted her eyelashes and smiled sweetly. "I'm going to be the most supportive pretend girlfriend you've ever had."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hehehe. Oh, fake dating trope, will we ever tire of you? Survey says: no. Hope you guys liked it!

*soapbox*  
The helium shortage is a real thing (like "gonna run out within our lifetime" real); it's only cheap because of artificial pricing set by the government. So pass it on and let's save that helium for SCIENCE!  
*end soapbox*

Thanks for reading! If you have a minute, check out memorizingthedigitsofpi on tumblr (she created the photo manip that inspired this fic).


	2. Chapter 2

For memorizingthedigitsofpi, who requested a follow up to the original chapter, and helped me brainstorm ideas for how this could go. Special thanks to atomicsupervillainess who gave me plenty of suggestions and helped me settle on a few of the details.

This chapter is T. Genitalia are mentioned but they do not come out to play.

* * *

"Fiii-itz!" Simmons called across the lab the next day. "Be a prince and fetch me a fresh box of slides from the supply closet, would you?"

"What? Why? You can't be out already." Fitz didn't look up from his welding.

"Oh, I don't know, because your _girlfriend_ asked you to?"

The propane torch shut off. Fitz flipped up his goggles to stare at her. "Simmons, I'm in the middle of—"

"If you'd fetched them straightaway instead of grousing, you'd be back to work by now," she trilled sweetly.

Fitz gritted his teeth. "Right. For my _girlfriend_. Coming right up, _darling_."

She beamed. "Thank you, dear!"

Across the hall through the glass doors, Leticia gave her a giddy thumbs-up. The people here _were_ unusually interested in her and Fitz's relationship, but… it felt a bit nice. _Welcoming ._ Smiling back at Leticia, Simmons pondered what _else_ she could do to cement her status as Fitz's girlfriend.

So naturally, when he scooted past on the way to the supply closet, she pinched his bum.

(She hadn't known he could jump so high.)

-o-

"Ready for lunch?"

Fitz scratched behind his ear, deep in thought as he scribbled a few more notations onto his schematics. "Mm-hmm, great. Give me three minutes."

Her smile turned mischievous as she noticed a few of the lab techs whispering about them.

"Brilliant! You're going to love The Salad Fork. Their macrobiotic vegetable platter is to die for!"

That got his attention. "Jemmaaa…" he whined.

"Oh, _sweetheart!_ " Her eyes crinkled. "It's good for you! I only want you to be healthy!" She turned on a pout and batted her eyelashes, sidling closer. "After all, what would I do without you?"

He rolled his eyes at the performance. "Yeah, yeah, okay." As he shrugged out of his lab coat, he brightened. "Actually, I think I will like this restaurant."

Jemma's hand stilled on the doorknob. "Leopold Fitz, willingly trying something new?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"This is the States, Simmons," he said smugly. "The salads are mostly cheese and bacon."

-o-

They'd barely come back from lunch when a few of the more… invested women from her floor cornered Simmons in the women's toilet.

"So? How are things going with Agent Fitz?" Leticia asked, ears perked for gossip. Flanking her, Midori and Verena (two of the younger techs, with whom Simmons would go so far as to say she had a friendly rapport) bounced on their toes in anticipation.

"Oh! Well, yes. He's quite a good boyfriend. _Obviously._ " She met their eyes and tried not to shift her weight too much.

Leticia squealed—honest-to-goodness _squealed_ —and Verena practically sang, "You two are so cute! We could just tell from the way he was doting on you in the lab that it had gone well."

Simmons took a deep breath, encouraged. Neither acting nor improvisation were her strong suit, but luckily, she'd come to work prepared. "Well, he's just so considerate. And _funny_. Why, last night, we went to my favorite restaurant—Bombay Grill, on Main? I'm not partial to gluten, so that's perfect—and _he_ ordered samosas and lamb korma, whilst _I_ ordered the chicken tikka masala. Fitz chose the wine, which was a pleasant surprise, because normally he's more of a beer drinker, so he must have been paying attention to the sort of wi—"

"We didn't mean the food!" Midori teased. "Come on, we want details!"

Simmons frowned. She thought she'd been providing quite a lot of details, actually. "As in…"

"As _in_ ," Verena pressed, "did he hold your hand? Did he, _you know_ …"

Simmons waited, blinking patiently.

Verena raised her eyebrows. "Kiss you goodnight?"

"Or _more_?" Midori added suggestively.

"Oh!" She paused, fumbling. "Right. Yes, it was… that."

"Oh, my god!" Leticia pressed a hand to her chest, emotional, while Midori smiled triumphantly at the other two women.

"I told you! Didn't I say? When they've been dancing around it for _this long_ …" Midori gestured in a vaguely explosive motion. "Plus she has that next-day glow."

"That's not a thing," Verena hushed her friend. "You don't have sex-dar."

"Oh?" Midori snipped. "Pretty sure I do. Simmons?"

All three women rounded on her expectantly. _Right._ Well, she was a biologist. She'd been sexually active before, it wasn't as if she didn't know where everything went. _And, actually…_

-o-

"You told them _what?!_ " Fitz screeched. "No wonder they kept starin' at me this afternoon!"

Simmons placidly continued to plate their leftovers. "Oh, Fitz, do calm down! I merely described your sexual prowess as being above average!" She ducked her head, fussing with a napkin. " _Extremely_ above average," she mumbled.

"But _why?_ " He looked aghast. "You _know_ what a gossip Tish is. It's gonna be all over the building tomorrow, if it's not already!"

"Precisely! It's a good thing, don't you see?" She turned to him, beaming. "I know you haven't exactly had much luck in the romance department—I doubt you'd even have gone on a date in the past five years, if Joanna hadn't set you up," she clucked. "And well, I just thought, if we can spread your reputation as a gentle lover—"

"A gentl— oh my _God_ , Jemma!"

"—then as soon as we 'break up' you'll have women queued up outside the door!" Simmons smiled knowingly. "I rather expected you'd thank me!"

" _Thank_ you?! You described my…" he gestured, horrified, "my _bits!_ And you said my," his voice lowered to a ragged whisper, "you-know-what was _bent!_ "

"Your penis, Fitz." She rolled her eyes. "And I didn't say _bent_ , I merely… _implied_ that it was… perhaps a bit… _curved_." She blushed lightly and steamrolled onward. "Which is actually quite convenient for a G-spot orgasm, so you're welcome."

"Oh, Heavenly Father." He dropped his hands onto his head and began to pace the small kitchen. "I'm gonna have to quit. I'm gonna have to _quit_ my _job_ , after _five years_ —"

"—don't be so dramatic, Fitz—"

"—one of the _most advanced lab s_ in the world, because my _best fr_ —"

"—Midori's very cute, and she seemed _quite_ —"

"—trying to _wingwoman_ my _bits_ —"

"—nothing _exotic_ , honestly, just a bit of clitoral—"

"—wish you wouldn't _say_ things like that!"

"—only _trying_ to be a good friend!"

They ran out of breath at the same time, eyes flashing in a standoff. With a clang, the bundle of flatware Simmons held dropped onto the counter. "Honestly, Fitz, there's no need to take my head off about it."

Fitz's cheeks matched the tomatoes on her salad. "I'm sure you _thought_ you were helping," he acknowledged gruffly, yanking open the refrigerator door and grabbing their drinks. A moment later, he muttered, "Still shouldn't have talked about that with our co-workers."

Simmons' hands curled loosely, fists tapping at her thighs. "Well. I suppose I can see how— I mean I— well, I'm sorry if I've made things awkward for you. I really did think you'd be pleased."

He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "You didn't… erm, as far as my… _equipment_ … there wasn't any talk about _inches_ or…" he trailed off uncomfortably.

Simmons giggled. "Inches? _Feet_ , Fitz. Feet."

His jaw dropped open in mortification. " _Simmons!_ "

"I'm joking!" She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and went back to setting the table. "Though you really should use the proper names for things. You're a scientist, for heaven's sake."

Fitz shot her a begrudgingly amused glare. "Well, excuse me if I'd prefer _neither_ of us say certain things."

"Oh?" Her lips quirked playfully. "Like what?"

"Jemma…" he warned.

"Penis?" She tapped her chin with one finger and mouthed exaggeratedly, "Sex?"

He made himself breathe through his nose.

"Vagina? Oooh, orgasm!" She leaned forward and scrunched her nose. "Erection. "

His neck flushed, pink creeping towards his ears. "Stop that."

"G-spot! Breasts! _Bottom!_ "

"Oh, bloody Hell," Fitz groaned, covering his eyes. "You know what, missy, your potty mouth just cost you your shot at a pretend engagement."

"Oh, _no_ …" Simmons pressed hand to chest in affected despair. "However shall I gauge my self-worth without a ring on my finger?"

As they settled into their chairs for dinner, just one night like any other night, Fitz joined Simmons in gentle teasing and affectionate laughter. And when they moved to the sofa to binge-watch their latest Netflix favorite, he discovered that despite the near-certain risk of humiliation, he wouldn't mind pretend-dating Jemma just a little while longer.

Especially if it meant he got to embarrass _her_.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

I'm sure there are lots of other fics where Jemma tries to wing-woman Fitz, but the only one I can think of at the moment (y'all, my butt is tired) is "Try This At Home" by thelatenightstoryteller. It's great!

Also, this fic is post-as-I-go. I'm not saying there will never be any more future chapters, but I don't have any more written and it's not a story I've planned out, so take this as completed for now.  
Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

"Good morning, pugmuffin!" Fitz called out sweetly, holding a paper bag in one hand.

"Fitz! Where've you been? I need your opinion on these latest scan results."

"Oh, I've only just gone to your favorite bakery!" He shook the bag one more time with a wide smile. _Try to make me eat salad, will you._ "Nutella-chip scones!"

"Ah…" She narrowed her eyes. "I think those might be _your_ favorite?"

"My mistake, snugglebug. Suppose I'll just have to finish them myself." He set a mug on her desk, ignoring her steely scowl. "Your tea, cookiebutton! Extra sweet, just like you!"

Her lips flatlined as she pressed them together. "Dearest," she deadpanned. "You know you're all the sweetness I need in my life! Why don't _you_ drink it? You look parched from your jaunt out in the cold."

"Aww, _poodlewicket_." He took a generous sip. Just the way he liked it. "You're the best."

" _Sweetiekins_ …" she stabbed out between closed teeth. "We're in the lab. Don't you think you should address me a bit more…"

"Aww… Can't a man be allowed to lavish his paramour with snacks and attention? After all, it's not as if our love is a secret… _everyone_ knows _all about_ us! Isn't that right, my honey-pear?"

"Of course. _Darling._ " She clenched the armrests of her desk chair. "Just try to be a bit more professional about it?"

"Oh! Right you are, as always." He smirked, leaning over to boop her nose. " _Doctor doctor_ pugmuffin."

-o-

"Oh! Hang on a tick, Jemmers." He watched her carefully for a reaction, biting his lip in amusement when she showed none beyond a slight tension in her shoulders. "Jemma-Jean. Jem-Jem-Is-Truly-Outrageous." Still nothing. _Perfect._

Fitz came up behind her in the lab, seizing the opportunity presented by the combination of her soiled, gloved hands and the microscope in front of her. "It's a wonder you can see anything with all this hair in your face."

"What are you talki–"

"It's a _disaster_ ," he tutted, and pulled out her carefully-smoothed ponytail.

"Fitz! This isn't the time!" She jerked her face sharply up, but kept her arms still.

"Now, you just do your work, Jemma-Lou. I've got this well in hand." He twisted a few strands around his finger, leaving thick, messy ropes in his wake. Finally, he gathered it all back up in a deliberately bumpy knot and wrapped the hair tie one-and-a half times around. "There you are," he announced, patting her shoulder.

"Oh…" The dangerous edge crept back into Simmons' voice as she stared at her reflection in the glass wall of the lab. "You _really_ shouldn't have."

"It's nothing, Jemmy-Jam! Honestly, what _would_ you do without me…" He shook his head fondly.

"Well, _Fitzy_ ," she gritted. "We may yet find out."

-o-

Simmons stormed into the lab, waving an empty box of tea. " _Fitz._ "

He half-turned in his desk chair, pushing away from his workstation to skate a short path across the tile. "Mmm?"

"The cup you made this morning." She took a deep breath through her nose. "That was the last of it?"

He shrugged. "I _did_ offer it to you first…"

"Ugh, Fitz!" A splotchy red swath had started to creep up her neck. "I'm going to have to drink _Lipton_." She stared him down, frosty and scalpel-edged.

"Well, you could always ask some of your friends here in the building if they've got anything else." He cocked a half-smile. "You know, your chums? You tell them everything?"

"Oh yes, I could ask them." She nodded, icicle gaze still boring holes into him. "Or I could just get my _boyfriend_ , the love of my life, to pop back to the flat and fetch me something better?"

"Hmmm." He grimaced helplessly. "I'm afraid I'm swamped with work at the moment."

"So un-swamp yourself." She marched over and bent so her face was only a foot away from his and hissed, "Or _too much sugar_ might not be the only thing wrong with your next cuppa."

She wouldn't really. _She wouldn't, would she?_ Then again, the apartment wasn't far. And he could raid his candy stash unguarded. _S'pose I could use a break._

"Oh, all right. Only the best for my best girl," he smiled, tilting his head affectionately. As she flounced off, he caught one of the visiting agents (another Level 3) watching him with eyebrows raised. _Play it off._ "Never get between an Englishwoman and her tea, eh?"

"Got that straight. Damn." The man peered past the doors Simmons had just left through. "Your old lady's _intense_. How do you handle that?"

"I can't help it," Fitz sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "I love the cold-hearted harpy."

-o-

"Agent Takahashi, clear your personal effects off of there immediately." Jemma carried a tray of new sample jars over to the lab bench, where Midori had just hastily removed her notes and purse. Setting her armload carefully down, she began lining up the jars and prepping them.

"Cabbagepatch, be nice!" Fitz chided her. "Not everyone's perfect like my little bunny-buns."

She rolled her eyes at him, snapped a warning look at Midori, who was watching them with wide eyes, and went ahead with her work. At least, until one of the jars wouldn't open.

"Oh, for heaven's–"

Well, he couldn't let such an opportunity pass. "Let _me_ do that, baby girl! You know your tiny hands can't handle the strain!"

A lightning storm seemed to roll across her face. "I beg your pardon?"

Fitz grinned like a cat in cream, reaching over to pluck the jar from her hands and pop it open. "There you are, snickerdoodle. And next time you need my help, don't wait to ask!"

-o-

"Fascinating, Agent Agbabiaka." Simmons sounded out of breath. _That's odd._ Could she have managed a set of jumping jacks without him noticing? Perhaps she'd done while he was busy with all the grunt-work she'd decided she absolutely needed _his_ help on, and _oh, Fitz dear, since you offered_. Bloody fool he was.

Simmons and Agbabiaka were looking at him. _Right._ "So you need us to miniaturize this?"

"As soon as you can," the agent answered pleasantly, his eyes flicking between them as he held out the small device. "The last tech team couldn't get it under 3cm."

"Pffft," Fitz scoffed, and they glanced at each other. "Our work's better," he asserted.

"We'll ensure everything's done to your _satisfaction_." Now, she'd apparently gotten something stuck in her eye, based on the unnecessary amount of blinking going on. "Impressive," she crooned, standing extra close to Agbabiaka and beaming up at his standard-issue tall-dark-and-handsome superspy face. _Dime a dozen, really, around here._ Simmons let out a pitchy laugh. "The device. Though I'm sure you don't _need_ tech to be impressive, yourself. I've heard all about your unit– not your _unit_ , rather, your team–"

Fitz sighed inwardly as realization struck. Honestly, the number of times he'd had to rescue Simmons from herself while she tried to flirt was ridiculous. He really wished she wouldn't do that in front of him–it was distracting, that's what it was, and downright inappropriate, given their current situation.

Simmons was three embarrassing sentences into a ramble with no signs of slowing when he scooted up to her side.

"Cuddlemonkey…" he began in singsong. "Didn't you have some diseased entrails to analyze?" He ruffled the top of her head. "She gets so distracted, this one."

Agbabiaka chuckled, setting the tech down on the table. "It's fine." He handed Fitz a card. "Please keep me updated."

As the muscular agent sauntered out the lab doors, Fitz turned smugly towards Simmons' glare and gave himself a mental high five.

-o-

Fitz exited the break room, stuffing one last handful of pretzels into his mouth and practically toppling into Agent Agbabiaka on his way around the corner. The surprise was enough to make him inhale a bit of pretzel-crumb dust, which was enough to leave him doubled over and wheezing pathetically as he waved reassurances at the taller man that _no, he didn't need any help_.

Once he'd caught his breath, he wiped his eyes and straightened. "Sorry about that. The hidden perils of gluten!"

Agent Agbabiaka looked him over appraisingly, slight humor decorating the manly line of his stubble. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. Wanted to talk to you before I left."

"Oh, well your device isn't finished yet. We can probably get it to you by lunch tomorrow." He shrugged apologetically. "Had a lot of… interruptions this afternoon." _Never mind why._ He didn't need the specialists knowing that two of the brightest minds at Sci-Ops were essentially embroiled in a prank war.

"That'll be fine. Actually, I just wanted to talk to you about your partner?"

"Simmons?" _Oh, God, what did she do?_ "What about her?"

"I was just wondering… based on the vibe she was giving out…" Agent Agbabiaka scanned the hallway and leaned in slightly, with the kind of confidence only six-foot-and-tallers could exude. "I guess you two have some kind of arrangement?"

-o-

"He was _this_ close to asking me to dinner, Fitz!" she huffed, pushing her hair off her forehead.

"Was he, though?" Fitz reached over and grabbed a handful of her chips. (She never finished them, anyway.) "And is that really the most appropriate thing for him to have done, considering everyone thinks you're my girlfriend?"

"Ajamu doesn't know that! He doesn't even work here!"

"But the techs were watching," he pointed out (completely reasonably) then pitched his voice higher, affecting an English accent. " _Thank you, Fitz, for lookin' out for my reputation._ "

"Please." Her lips pinched around the word. "I was hardly pulling him into a storage closet for a snog." She jabbed her fork viciously into her fish. "It's completely unfair that I'm not even allowed to _flirt_ anymore."

"You shouldn't be allowed to flirt regardless, Simmons! You're horrible at it!"

She gasped, face tensing with affront. "Well, it's better than being a–" She lowered her voice censoriously, "–a _cockblock_."

Fitz paused, gnawing thoughtfully on a cuticle. "Is it still called that when it's a girl?"

She huffed. "Well, you're wrong, anyway. _Plenty_ of people appreciate my charms." She wavered for a second, then reassured herself with a brisk nod. "And if you'd let me continue talking to Ajamu, you'd–"

"–have witnessed you making a complete fool of yourself?"

Her mouth dropped into a perfect _o_ of rage. "The only thing you would have witnessed, _Leo_ , is a nubile young prodigy being invited out for drinks!"

"Nah." He popped a chip in his mouth and chewed slowly, delighting in the vein he could see under her forehead. "You're lucky I stepped in, Simmons. He wasn't the guy for you."

"Oh, so _you're_ the one who decides that? Thank you; I'll make sure to tell my mother so she knows where to send the hate mail when I'm still single in ten years." She waved her fork at him. "You do realize you're only my _pretend_ boyfriend."

Fitz snorted. "More of one than Ajamu would be." He smirked into his Coke and went for the kill.

"Considering he asked _me_ out a few hours ago."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thanks to atomicsupervillainess for brainstorming help, and to atomicsupervillainess and memorizingthedigitsofpi for the beta!

This fic's one that I sort of just update when I get an idea for it, so unfortunately I can't give you any kind of time frame for when there might be a new chapter up. But, I do have some thoughts for at least one more chapter. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**For memorizingthedigitsofpi, who loves brOTPs and gross!fic.**

 **So you guys know how FitzSimmons have gotten cute and romantic and sigh-worthy and perfect lately?**

 **Uhh...**  
 **This isn't that.**

 **:-D**

* * *

Jemma gritted her teeth, swallowing the annoyance off her face as Fitz swooped behind her to pull out her desk chair… _again_.

"Thank you, dear heart, my only light in the darkness," she muttered, the crunch of her words like burnt sugar. "You're _too_ good to me."

Over the past few days, the thin veneer of devotion at the office had given way to rather more childish behavior at home. A hidden set of keys, a roll of toilet paper stuck together, hairbands all stretched out—a dozen small inconveniences that might have driven a lesser woman spare. And while Jemma definitely got her shots in ( _she_ couldn't help it if the hot water always ran out before his shower, after all) Fitz's unceasing smirk was starting to give her hives.

 _Either that, or he's slipped something into my body lotion._

"Agent Tapia!" Fitz's cheerful bellow jolted her from her musings on revenge. "How can we help you today?"

Agent Tapia—or Elias, as he'd insisted she call him the week before, with his dark-eyed smoulder and toothpaste grin—looked warily at Jemma, then glanced down at his clipboard. "Yeah… it's probably more of a tech issue…" With that, he turned more fully towards Fitz before starting in on his request.

 _Not him too._ Jemma sighed. Was it possible she wasn't as attractive as she thought? The sight of her reflection in the lab doors evaporated _that_ ridiculous thought nearly as soon as she formed it, and she chuckled, shaking her head. No, this had to be down to Fitz somehow. _Probably warned them all off me like some kind of propriety-conscious caveman._

Well, that simply wouldn't do. Jemma Simmons was no shrinking violet, to curtail her _very successful_ flirting habit simply because her lab partner found it gauche. She narrowed her eyes, watching Elias and Fitz' easy rapport, the way the operative's broad shoulders stretched his suit, chin like a fire truck, slim torso just _made_ for climbing… and to think, Fitz probably didn't even realize what he'd kept from her!

 _Honestly._ Who did he think he was, interfering with her love life? She'd only ever tried to _help_ him with _his_. Clenching her fists, Jemma nodded.

It was time to up the ante.

-o-

"It's ridiculous, Simmons. Can Sci-Ops even _do_ that?" Fitz groaned as he stepped off the lift into the hall. "How is a mandatory evening out going to make us a better team?" He shifted impatiently behind her, hitching his backpack higher onto his shoulder. "As if anyone really wants to see a dozen blokes beating each other bloody with sticks when we _could_ be workin' on the new heat signature readout for the Magic Window."

"It's meant to be a bonding experience, Fitz." Jemma stopped her eye-roll just in time. "Perhaps if you ever attempted to make friends in our division instead of snapping at the techs, you'd understand the concept."

"What I _understand_ is that this country's obsessed with sports, and my leisure time is paying the price."

"Oh, hush." She slipped her key into the lock and pushed through the door. "Just think of all the appalling junk food they'll have!"

"Really?" He eyed her with no small measure of disbelief. "Is my _girlfriend_ actually going to let me enjoy a plate of pickled jalapeños and squirt cheese?"

 _Oh, bother._ She'd managed to forget that a night out with their co-workers would mean keeping up their charade, doubtlessly under increased scrutiny. And Fitz's fake-martyr act made it patently clear he'd been painting her as the villain to anyone who would listen. She pursed her lips.

"You know, you _could_ act as if you're happy to be out at a hockey game with me, instead of moaning about what kind of snacks I've brought."

"I can't help it, Jemma! You always have those tiny sandwich bags stuffed with inedible cardboard—"

 _Oh, too far._ That wasn't even something she did as his pretend girlfriend; now he was just attacking _her_. "Kashi wafers are _not_ —"

"—barely food, it's not right—"

"— _thank_ me for even _sharing_ —"

"—chewing so _damn_ loud—"

"—organic, _gluten free_ —"

"—only doing it to _annoy_ m—"

"—just _poison_ your body then, for all I care!"

She ran out of breath with a harried toss of her arms, and he matched her, chest rising sharply before biting out, "Oh, I _will_ , Simmons." He breathed in, lifting his chin in challenge. "I'm gonna get the oldest hot dog there, the one that's been rolling 'round the tray for _hours_ … I'm gonna _drown_ it in spicy mustard, then I'm gonna sit _right next_ to you, so you've got to smell it. All. Night. Long." He punctuated each word with a finger and stalked off towards his bedroom, calling back, "Don't wear anything you wouldn't want stains on!"

"It's a _date_!" she spat furiously.

"Fine!"

"Ugh!" she shrieked, just before the slam of his door rang through the flat. Then, slowly, Jemma crossed her arms, sat down on the sofa, and smiled. He'd revealed his entire plan of attack, the fool. And all _she_ had to do was plan accordingly.

-o-

The pregame music blared through the speakers over their seats as Fitz shuffled into his spot next to Jemma, carefully balancing two beers and several paper trays of the filthiest stadium food he'd been able to find. Gloppy orange nachos, poutine buried under chili and onions, two shriveled pizza triangles, their grease lakes staining the white carton red… if he was being honest, none of it looked properly appetizing. _Neither does that sesame-seed concoction she just pulled out of her bag_ , he consoled himself. And as long as he had Jemma's word she wasn't going to force any of her parrot food on him, he was going to bloody well take advantage.

After all, if he could horrify his best friend by dipping his _french fries_ (he wouldn't insult chips like that) into ranch dressing, all the better.

"I'm not drinking that," Jemma warned priggishly, waving at the second beer. "Do you know they store that under the ice? You're an engineer, you must understand it's nearly impossible to clean the buildup from those pipes." She shuddered, and Fitz thought he caught her muttering about bacteria under her breath.

"Who says I bought it for you?" he retorted. Catching Verena eyeing him in shock, he amended his tone. "I mean, er… what else can I get you, honey-bun?"

"One of us should stay alert," Jemma hummed in faux thoughtfulness. "Just bottled water for me. But you drink up, darling; I'll make sure you get home in one piece."

 _Right. Because_ ** _that's_** _not ominous_ ** _at all_** _._

An eternity later, subtly attempting to resuscitate his legs as best he could in the cramped, molded plastic currently serving as his prison, he leaned over and gave Jemma a whiff of his best banana-pepper breath. "How long do these games last, for god's sake?"

"Stop being such a baby," she smiled back. "The best part's just coming up."

"How could you possibly know that?" He squinted towards the ice, alcohol dulling his vision at the edges. "I can't see a thing from up here." Trust SHIELD to reserve them the cheapest seats in the place. "S'pose it's better than a front-row seat to someone's nose gettin' broken against the glass."

"Oh, Fitz," Jemma sighed, bemused. "It's actually better to watch from this vantage point—you can track the puck far more easily than if we were down behind the glass." She nudged him, pointing towards the jumbo-tron. "Besides, everything you need to see is on the big screen, anyway."

"Pffft." How could they possibly make sure _everything_ people wanted to see made it onto that screen? Were they omniscient? What if he only wanted to watch the worst player on the ice, for the sake of his own self-esteem? _What then, hmm?_

As he opened his mouth to make those and several other excellent observations, the third period horn sounded, blasting through his tipsy brain like a slap to the teeth. Jemma poked at his shoulder. "You see? Look!"

His eyes snapped to the jumbo-tron just as an exploding heart graphic pixellated into a shot of two random spectators in the stands.

"Oh, it's the kiss-cam, Fitz!" Jemma clapped delightedly as the couple on camera looked at each other, tittered, and went in for a snog.

A thin tendril of dread snaked through his cheese-clogged gut. "Uh-huh… why do _you_ sound so pleased about it?"

"Why do you think?" She leaned in with a sinister grin. " _Lover?_ "

 _Oh, my giddy aunt._ Fitz sat up in a panic, the numbness in his legs forgotten as he hunted through discarded napkins. _Bonanza_. One extra-spicy pickle, flavored with some variety of disgusting caper he knew Jemma would hate.

"I think it's your best idea yet." Stuffing the whole thing into his mouth, he gave her a wide smile. "Ready, _babes_?"

It was handy Fitz was so good at oozing confidence, because in point of fact, he didn't feel ready at all. But, then, it was entirely possible that they wouldn't even appear on the—

 _… Aaaand there we are. Bollocks._

One minute he was staring up at himself and Jemma, splashed across a huge screen under the stares of thousands of people. The next, his platonic best friend of nearly a decade, the woman who'd been chafing his arse with her passive-aggressive shenanigans for the past week, _Doctor Doctor Jemma Simmons_ was ducking her head towards his with a glint of evil in her eye. He steadied himself for whatever she had planned—a clove of garlic? a worm? _that would be quite rude to the worm_ —and focused on getting as much of the pepper into her mouth as he could.

He had the fleeting thought, as he slicked his spicy, briny tongue inside Jemma's cheek, that they were being extremely graphic for a work outing. _And extremely goddamn disgusting._ Remnants of pepperoni oil and mustard stained the corners of his mouth, and his second, peppery pass dislodged a pocket of granola from where it had been stuck between Jemma's gums and teeth (teeth she seemed to be resolutely clanking against his as often as possible). Through a haze of drunkenness and mistrust, Fitz's focus began to slip as his suspicions spiked. _Is that it? She's just a rubbish kisser?_ There was no way.

Beyond the fog, Fitz became aware of the whoops and hollers of his labmates, and a surge of embarrassment flooded his face. _Fingers crossed they'll blame the alcohol?_ He yanked back his lips, his mouth closing instinctively, and felt something at the back of his throat. _Oh, bloody Hell. Please be a rogue sunflower seed._

Bringing his fist up to his mouth, he waved sheepishly at his co-workers while he coughed into his hand. A broken casing landed on his palm. _  
Damn it, Jemma. What did you_ ** _do_** _._

"What the Hell, Simmons?" he hissed. Or at least, he meant to. What came out was more like, "Whuh Hell, Smum?"

"Come again?" Those innocent blinks had never felt so insufferable. "I hardly understand you. Oh, Fitz, did you drink too much?"

In the midst of his glare, Fitz felt a thin string of drool land on his shirt. _Fucking perfect._ He whipped out his phone and typed out a hasty message.

 _[ tht new anesthetic compd? rly? RLY JEMMA? ]_

 _[ we r WORK ]_

 _[ not ok! simmons! ]_

When she merely shrugged and turned her eyes back to the game, he followed it up with a string of furious red emojis. And when _that_ made her bite her lip to hold back a peal of laughter, he decided that pretend girlfriends didn't mind a little drool, and dragged his mouth down her arm to kiss the back of her hand. Or, at least, he assumed he did. He really couldn't feel the bottom half of his face.

He _could_ , however, feel the recoil in her posture as she dabbed her skin dry on his shirt.

"I'm afraid Fitz and I need to head back," Jemma declared suddenly, standing and tugging him up by the elbow. "Thank you so much for inviting us out!"

"Really? But you'll miss the overtime!" Verena protested, and Midori followed on her heels with, "What if there's an epic sudden-death shootout?"

Joanna stood to let them past, brow scrunching as her gaze landed on Fitz. "Agent Fitz, you don't look well," she clucked, reaching over to pat his shoulder. "Will you be all right?"

His attempt to answer sounded vaguely like a Wookiee.

"He will," Jemma reassured her. "I am a doctor, after all." _Jesus Harrypotter Christ, she's got some gall._ "In fact, I'm certain he's having a reaction to the preservatives in the food, and should be right as rain by morning!" Jemma shook her head indulgently, the picture of a caring girlfriend, as Fitz waved his hands in frantic denial. "I _did_ try to tell him to stay away from all that junk!"

As their co-workers waved right back at him, voicing goodbyes and disappointment at their departure, plus a few knowing looks at their hurry, Jemma glanced back at Fitz over her shoulder and smirked, "Aww, Fitzy—at least you got to leave early!"

-o-

The next day, even though he could speak perfectly well again, Fitz sent Jemma one more text.

 _[ We are breaking THE FUCK up. ]_

* * *

 **#sorrynotsorry for making the fake-dating "forced kiss" trope have zero epiphany effect here**

 **It's possible these doofuses will still realize they _looove_ each other, but this particular chapter was 100% inspired by Elizabeth Henstridge's discussions of all the pranks she wanted to play on Iain when they finally had to film a Fitzsimmons kiss.**

 **Thanks to atomicsupervillainess for sprinkling lots of hockey know-how into the thing.**

 **(As usual for this fic, I have ideas for what might happen next, but no clue when I'll get the time to write them down. Thanks for reading!)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Written as a pick-me-up for a friend, have the next installment in this absolutely _ridiculous_ escalation!**

 **(Plus it gave me an excuse of something to do to keep my mind off not being able to watch the ep til tomorrow.)**

* * *

" _And_ you're a blanket thief!"

"So are you!" She raised her voice, just in case the entire cafeteria couldn't hear already.

"Yeah? Well, you _snore!_ "

 _Ouch._ He knew she couldn't help that. "You didn't seem to mind when you were having _sexual intercourse_ with me!"

His eyebrows shot up his forehead, cartoonishly fast. Perhaps she could've worded that better. _Too late now._

"And another thing, _Leopold!_ " she crowed, ignoring the glare at his given name. "At least I eat my pizza like a normal person!"

Fitz breathed in, nostrils flaring dramatically. "If the powers that be wanted us to leave the crust for last, _why'd they stuff it full of cheese?_ "

"Ugh! You're such an oaf sometimes!" Her hands, gripping the sides of her food tray, shook in (mostly) false rage.

"And _you're_ just jealous I can _eat_ cheese, instead of fussin' over," Fitz's voice morphed into a shrill English mockery, "my _perfectly balanced intestinal flora_." Falling out of the accent, his face twisted in disgust. "Not exactly sexy, Simmons." He looked down and muttered, "Especially 'cause all that veg makes you farty."

 _What in the heavens is he up to?_ That wasn't what they'd discussed. Well, if Fitz thought he could go off-book without consequences, he had another think coming.

"Hah! Sexy? You're one to talk, Mr. Two-Pairs-Of-Underpants-At-One-Time!"

Fitz blanched. _Didn't think I knew about that, did you? Don't throw your laundry in with mine next time._

"That's—" he hissed, quietly, "—look, it feels like a nice hug, alright? I feel safe and warm all day." Then, louder, and with a smirk. "Now, Jemma, you know _exactly_ why I need the extra support."

 _Curse him_. "Mmm," she harrumphed, "Or, you just like switching them out and wearing them longer without washing. Talking of _unsexy_."

His mouth dropped open in affront. "I refuse to take criticism from someone who pronounces it _jif_."

Her eyes rolled almost of their own volition. "Oh, my god, Fitz! The creator of the gif _himself_ agrees with me, not to mention _linguistically_ , there is a strong case for the fricative—"

"Right, because it stands for _Jraphics_ Interchange Format, I suppose?" Fitz crossed his arms.

Her voice climbed another octave. "I— wh— You can't even say _penguins_ correctly!"

He groaned. "That was _one time!_ "

"One time when you were being _recorded!_ "

"Agents Fitz? Simmons?" Salwah's motherly concern broke through their shouting match. "Why don't we get you two…" She gently took Jemma's tray from her hands and placed it on an empty table. "Somewhere else, where you can have a little privacy."

"No need, Salwah," Jemma sniffed primly. "I can promise you Agent Fitz and I have nothing left to discuss."

"Yeah," Fitz sniped back, holding himself stiffly as he looked around, affecting shock at the attention they'd drawn. "We apologize for makin' a scene. I _guarantee_ it won't happen again." He aimed a confrontational sneer her way.

 _Adorable. He thinks he's getting the last word._

"Oh, you _bet_ it won't," she added. "Nothing over _here_ —" she gestured towards her body, "—is ever happening with _that_ —" her hands flipped disdainfully towards Fitz, "—ever again."

"Same here."

"You can _mark my words_."

"And _mine_."

"Yes. Mark _both_ our words."

"But mostly _mine_ —"

A loud, angsty whine sounded from the salad bar. "You guys, just _go!_ Work things out!" Verena's eyes were brimming with emotion, or possibly the fumes from the vinegar selection.

Chastened, they made their exit and ducked into the elevator. A loaded silence sat between them, until Jemma broke it, chirping brightly.

"Well!" She clasped her hands in front of her waist. "I think that went swimmingly."

"Ehh." Fitz scratched at his jaw. "I suppose it'll have to do. I don't like you bringing up my underpants in front of everyone, but I suppose it's loads better than your…" he colored, "...previous chats about me."

"Indeed." Her lip twitched as she pondered her next words. "Though, speaking of ill-conceived conversations, I may need your help in convincing the eligible men in this lab I'm not an uptight nag."

"What?!" Fitz turned to look at her, aghast. "I haven't said anything of the sort!"

"I'm sure you didn't need to, Fitz," she sighed. "It's an unfortunate reality that a woman's actions are judged far more harshly than a man's. If _you're_ bossy, it's assertive and sexy; when I do it, I'm quite the bitch." Her fingernails dug into her palms, though her tone stayed matter-of-fact. "It's really no wonder that people see you as perfect and only notice my mistakes."

"Well, I _haven't_ said anything, but I'll sort 'em out if I hear any talk like that." He looked down at his feet and mumbled, "Even though you _are_ bossy."

Jemma allowed herself a small smile. "I think you mean, _like a boss_."

The pained expression on Fitz's face sent her into giggles.

"Oh my Christ, Simmons, don't—"

"What, I can't experiment with new vernacular?" Jemma asked breezily. "So you're allowed to adopt _biatch_ into your vocabulary, but when I—"

"—just doesn't _sound right_ when you—"

"—remind you, pasty man, _you're Scottish—_ "

"—a _rapper_ , might as well start calling you 'Lil—"

"—lecturing me about _American slang_ —"

"—shhh! The lift, Jemma!"

The elevator dinged open onto a skeptical-looking set of coworkers who shuffled past them with raised eyebrows and studiously averted faces. As the doors closed behind them and they headed back to their lab, Jemma joked sheepishly, "At least we've got a good excuse for arguing at work again."

Fitz glanced over, a small grin quirking at his face. "Amen to that."

-o-

It was two days later when Fitz burst into her bedroom, curls sticking up and one sock off.

"Jemma." His crazed stare bore down on her. "We're best friends, right?"

She put down her article on nanopore DNA sequencing. Leisure reading could wait. "Ye-esss?"

"Good." He swallowed. "Remember that. No take-backs."

"What?!" _Bloody hell, nothing good ever comes from playing the best friend card._

Fitz spread his hands and took a deep breath.

"We've got to get back together."

* * *

 **Thanks to badscienceshenanigans for the late-night "oh gawd what on Earth kind of science journal could Jemma be reading before bedtime" assist. She keeps me sounding smart, y'all.**

 **The penguins thing was about how Benedict Cumberbatch can't say penguins, by the way. It's hilarious.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sooooo… over a year after the last update, here you have it, the last chapter! (I mean, I feel like a re-read up to this point might be helpful, but I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life)  
** **:-** D

 **Anyway, without _further_ ****delay, please enjoy the spect-crack-ular conclusion to this ridiculous nonsense!  
**

* * *

- _a few hours earlier -_

"And, gosh, I just hope you two can work it out," Joanna sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue before opening her arms and enveloping Fitz in a suffocating hug. A miasma of perfume firetrucked into his face, and he forced himself to be still as Joanna worked out what were clearly her own issues. _Hold your breath and count, man, you can do this._ It certainly didn't help that this was the fifth hug he'd been made to withstand just that afternoon. He hadn't been subjected to this many matronly bosoms since his mum's bridge club.

The elevator dinged, and he gladly took the excuse. "Ah, well, better get back to it!" he waved, ducking in just in time to see the doors close on Joanna's parting wisdom. As if he didn't already know that _true love takes work, dear!_

Well, in fairness, he'd never experienced true love, but fake love was ridiculously taxing, so it made sense that the real thing would be even worse.

It was with a sigh of relief that he made his way back to his desk, only to stop short once it was in his eyeline. Folded papers of various colors littered his workspace, along with a small Tupperware, two paper mugs of coffee from the place down the street, and _is that a carnation?_ But the most surprising thing at his desk was that there was a woman, _not_ Jemma, sitting in his chair. She turned towards him slowly. "Hi, Fitz."

He swallowed. "Agent Brangiers!"

"Alia, please. We don't need to be so formal, do we?" She uncrossed her legs and stood, smoothing down her smart black pencil skirt.

"Oh, er, alright. Is there a… marketing issue you wanted to speak to me about?"

She chuckled, low and throaty, before blinking up at him. "I was just on this floor, thought I'd bring you some coffee." Her lips curled into a smirk he dimly remembered from the one date they'd been set up on. "Even though it looks like someone else had the same idea." Her fingernails traced the edge of one of the folded notes. "Maybe a few someones?"

"Ehh, I… I'm not sure? I was down in R&D all morning." He shrugged. "Those are… ahh, probably just requests for, erm, tech improvements?"

Alia raised an eyebrow. "On scented paper."

"I don't know?" Was the air-con working? He'd have to get someone to take a look at it.

"Well. Listen, I know we don't cross paths very often…" She leaned towards him. "But I hope you realize that if you need _anything_ , I'm here."

Elias Tapia chose that moment to stride by, muttering a scoffed, "Unbelievable." And Fitz, seeing his chance to exit the strange conversation he was having, quickly seized it.

"Agent Tapia!"

The man in question stopped short, but didn't face him.

"I've got some questions, about the, uh, the project Jemma's been consulting on with you. I mean, Dr. Simmons."

Alia sighed. "Pity. I guess that's my cue to leave." She stepped closer and held up the coffee cup, then blew softly through the wisps of steam sneaking past the lid. "Careful… it's hot."

Tapia did turn then, eyes narrowed, and tracked Agent Brangiers' exit before giving Fitz his full attention. "You certainly move fast, Agent Fitz."

"What? No! No, that's…" Seeing the specialist's gaze land on the gifts all over his desk, he waved frantically. "These are just… believe me, I didn't ask for any of it! In fact, here!" He pressed the coffee into the other man's hands with a frantic giggle. "I don't even like the stuff!"

"You know, I always thought you were a good agent." Tapia crossed his muscled arms and stared Fitz down. "So imagine my surprise when I check in yesterday afternoon and all anyone can talk about is your fight in the cafeteria."

 _Oh, God. I'm going to die. This man is going to kill me, right here at my job, and since he's trained in killing, no one will notice._

Fitz squeaked out, "Would you believe me if I told you it was just as much her idea to end things?" _Jemma, you can have my Doctor Who collection, and please take care of my stuffed orangutan Mr. Gingerpants._

Tapia bent down slightly so that he could stare Fitz in the eye. "Of course she'd want to break it off. The way I heard it, you shouted at her, threw your food in her face, and here you are accepting—"

" _What?!_ " 

* * *

"The whole office somehow thinks I threw my _lunch_ at you, Jemma!"

"Only some lettuce!" She patted his arm reassuringly. "If it helps, no one would ever believe you were eating it."

He gaped. "Still! How does that even— there were about _thirty witnesses_ , how does that—"

"Rumors are powerful things, Fitz, and you know people don't need much incentive to add on to a juicy bit of gossip."

"Well, it needs to stop! And that's not the only thing," he said, pulling out the handful of notes. "I've been getting all these— this— _female attention_ ever since the break-up, and it's, Jemma, it's too much!"

"Oh, what on Earth are you on about?" Jemma picked up one of the notes and began to read. "Invitation to lunch, offer of support, offer to partner on a project, shoulder to cry on— oh, this one's from Ximena! She's got very symmetrical breasts, Fitz. You should ask her to tea."

"Jemma, wha— no, just. No, okay?"

"Why not? You're quite a fan of breasts, as I recall!"

" _Why do you even know tha_ — okay," he broke off, inhaling hard through his nose. "Okay, it's— look, this isn't anything against Ximena, or any of them. I just don't want to interact this much with my co-workers! I want to sit at my desk, and work on my designs, and eat my sandwich in peace."

She let the papers fall. "Well, I'm sorry you're upset, but to be quite honest, Fitz, I can think of worse things that being well-liked by a few women."

He threw his arms up. "Of course you don't get it. Why would you? You've _always_ been well liked!" The heel of his hand came up to press between his eyebrows. "You know, none of this would be happening if the entire building didn't think I'm some sort of," he hissed out, " _sex fiend_. Thanks again for that, by the way."

"Oh, you using my razor was thanks enough, _honey munchkin_ ," she sniped back. "And don't forget it was you who started this ridiculous charade!"

"Yeah, and I wish I hadn't! I was perfectly happy just partnering with you, all right, and keeping my job and private life separate. Now everyone thinks I'm the sort of person who dates at work—"

"Rude."

He wagged a finger at her. "No, you date _specialists_ , so you've got lots of options if things go wrong. Field agents work in a different building, after all; they're constantly out on mission, sometimes they die—"

"Fitz!"

"Okay, too far," he waved her off. "Point is, there's not much risk in it. But why do you think I never wanted Joanna to set me up? _Why_ would I willingly choose to get romantically entangled with someone I see every day? Someone I rely on? Why would I do that? How do _you_ not see the catastrophic implications of… all _this_?" His palm came down hard on the desk, scattering the love notes.

"Okay. Okay," she soothed, putting her hand over his. Her thumb rubbed small circles as she considered her next words. "Fitz, I understand what you're saying, but by your own logic, us pretending to date again isn't the way to fix it."

"Argh, I know, Jemma. I just… I suppose I just need to put on my big-boy pants and deal with this mess myself."

"Please. You think I'd leave you to the wolves?" She stood up and nodded once. "If our labmates think they can spread tales about _my_ best friend," she crossed her arms, "they've got another think coming."

-o-

"Oh, dear," Joanna tutted. "Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed, but I understand. And I'm just glad that all this trouble hasn't come between you two."

"Not at all, Jo. Fitz and I are still as close as ever, and I'm sure you can understand why I was shocked to hear the terrible things people were saying about him."

"You know, I could hardly believe it myself. Such a nice boy, too. The nerve of some people."

Jemma stifled a snort at Joanna's innocent tone. _As if she isn't the worst gossip among the lot of them._ "Yes, well, I debated trying to dispel the rumors myself, but I don't have the opportunity to talk with each department on a daily basis. And when I considered who else here cares as much about Fitz as I do, your name immediately came to mind." She was probably laying it on a bit thick, but ends and means, as they say. "It's mutual, of course. I think he once referred to you as his American mother? Surely you know how important his mum is to him."

"Oh, my— well, that is just—" Joanna pressed a hand to her chest and took a breath. "We're going to get this all sorted out. You tell him that for me."

Jemma's triumphant smile stayed on for the rest of the day.

-o-

Fitz thanked the waiter and leaned forward to clink his champagne glass with Jemma's. "To lessons learned."

"To getting back to my regularly scheduled flirting," she answered, chuckling at his pained eyeroll.

Emphatically, he added, "To never again discussing our personal affairs with our co-workers."

 _He's never going to let that go, is he?_ "To using each other's given names again… _cuddlemonkey_."

"Oh, Christ Almighty." He took a big, bubbly gulp from his glass and declared, "To having each other's backs."

"I'll drink to that." She sipped at her champagne as a sly smile crept across her cheeks. "Talking of which, here's to kicking arse in the field training course I signed us up for— the one you said you'd never willingly enter?"

"Wait. What?"

Their conversation was derailed as a cheer erupted around them, and Jemma looked behind her to see a man proposing to his girlfriend by way of an absolutely massive diamond engagement ring. After a round of clapping from the other restaurant patrons, the waiter came around to the newly betrothed couple. Smiling, he set down two plates of decadent chocolate torte drizzled in caramel. "Compliments of the house. Congratulations!"

 _Oh, bloody Hell._ She had a feeling she knew exactly what Fitz—

"Jemma! Jemma, did you see that?" Fitz's whispered question carried the palpable excitement of a dog whose owner has just returned home.

"Fitz…" Her voice rang with quiet immovability. "No."

He whined. "It's _free cake_ , Jemma!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, don't be ridicu— Fitz!" Her palms pressed against her neck as she jolted in horror. "You had _better_ be tying your shoes!"

Fitz looked up at her from where he knelt, the shit-eatingest of grins playing across his face.

"Jemma Anne Simmons, light of my life and my partner in all things… will you make me the happiest man in the world?"

\- _fin_ -

* * *

 **(it's cake. he's gonna be the happiest man in the world if he gets cake)**

 **And... that's a wrap!**

 **I do have a few other things I've been working on lately, so I'll try to post more often? or at the very least try not to vanish for so long.  
:-D  
**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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